Sweet Coupled Air
by scarlotti
Summary: He can see her now. A tangled mane of red curls and skin like ivory, and if his mind is waxing poetic than he doesn't give a damn right now, because she's smiling at him and her eyes are wild and blue and haunting. The cliffs are coming hard at him and a small part of him thinks "break" but the rest of him must have her. (Prompt fill for Duke/OC (siren) request on tumblr.)


**Title: Sweet Couple Airs**

**Rating: T+ (I don't know, there's a reference that might make it M *blush*) for implication and language**

**Pairing: Duke/OC (Siren)**

**Prompt: "Duke, red-haired siren, first meeting, maybe there could be rain"** for jesf and Rachel

**Disclaimer: Not only don't I own anything **_**Haven**_** (except a few episodes and a stylin' Christmas tree ornament), but I've NEVER written a "Duke" piece and this is the closest I've ever come (or may ever come) to smut. Be kind ;). Any mistakes are entirely mine, because there's no way I'm having anyone beta anything this racy. :O**

**A/N1: Title is from Homer's Odyssey. This takes place during Last Goodbyes, but Duke's unconsciousness is caused by the siren ;). (to clarify)**

* * *

_The siren sea, she calls to me_

_And bids me come away_

_A whispered breath through heart and hair_

_Her foaming brine leaves longing there,_

_And pulls me back again._

Duke promised himself when he was young – roughly the time that his father started using his fists instead of his mouth during drunken rages – that while he may occasionally use alcohol, he'd never let alcohol use him.

But the sea?

_She_ can use him all she'd like. Simon told him once, in one of his more lucid moments, that the sea was in the Crocker blood. But then, the man had failed to mention anything to him about super-human-serial-killer genes, so these days he's taking all that sage wisdom with a grain of salt.

Lately he's been feeling her pull often – nearly every time he has a run-in with anyone surnamed Parker or Wuornos – and today, more than most. The waves lap against the weathered sides of the _Cape Rouge_ and lift her sides in a pleasant show of unbridled strength. There's a lilting pattern to the wind that stirs an ache behind his breastbone, and he sets the helm to port and away from the coastline of Haven.

Two hours later, and the pull is a tangible presence. He should be worried by the thick mist that's gathering. But hell, he's seen stranger things in the last few months than most men dare dream of. He can feel the thrumming in the air around him and the lilt has taken up a mournful tone against the muffled crashing of tide-on-shore. He can't think of anything other than the urge to find its source. An island - really no more than a few rocky outcroppings - breaks fast in front of him.

And the lilt has turned to song…

He can see her now. A tangled mane of red curls and skin like ivory, and if his mind is waxing poetic than he doesn't give a damn right now, because she's smiling at him and her eyes are wild and blue and haunting. The cliffs are coming hard ahead and a small part of him thinks _"break"_ but the rest of him must have her, and in the split second that he has to process his darkening vision, he curses it because he _must have her._

He hits the deck at nearly the same moment that the _Rouge_ hits the scant beach and comes to her rest with her bow touching rock.

_~  
Here let them rest a while ere set the sun,_

_And sip the honey'd moments one by one –_

_So fleet, so sweet so few to squander or save_

Frank T Marzials_, Siren Song_  
~

There's a splitting pain above his right eye when he comes to, and later he'll read about a gas leak that rendered Haven's inhabitants unconscious and question the sanity of anyone who stays in a town and buys the Teague's spin on the Troubles.

Then he feels the fingers lacing gently through his hair and he remembers.

Her.

She's here now; his brain is fuzzy with scenarios of dream and reality, and formulates "mermaid" before discarding it. The girl obviously has legs. He can feel them against his back. He needs an aspirin. Maybe he needs a stiff drink, because he's now recalling the only reference he's ever heard that incorporated singing, beautiful women, and rocks.

He'd told his classmates that he'd only read Homer's _Odyssey_ because Alice Gairn's was offering private tutoring sessions. Duke Crocker, the closet bibliophile didn't play well in certain circles. He's trying frantically to recall if the sailors were warned to close their eyes or stop their ears, and he can't do it for the life of him.

Besides, Duke's always considered himself to be more of a lion.

He opens his eyes, and ethereal is the only adjective that comes close. There are fine beads of mist caught in her hair and she's smiling down on him. He finds himself at an actual loss of words.

Apparently, there's a first time for everything.

"I hit your rocks." He finally manages to make his mouth work and immediately regrets it.

The corner of her smile tilts up a centimeter more and her hair brushes against his neck. It smells like lavender of all things, and it's glinting in a way that has his fingers itching.

"I know who you are."

He chalks another point up for dream because her voice is lyrical and fiery and he's suddenly all too aware of just how close she is and how many steps it takes to reach his cabin. And what kind of psychic whammy she might hit him with if he makes a move to haul her off in that direction.

Or if he starts spouting prose.

But he has to actually talk first, and all he can manage is something that sounds suspiciously like a giggle.

"And _you_ are my sailor." She says it with a giggle of her own, as her eyes take inventory of his face; hers is decidedly more seductive.

This must be a dream.

Her eyes fix on him again, predatory.

He's mentally counting the steps again.

She starts humming and it _burns_ through him.

He suddenly finds his legs again and when he sweeps her up, she's lighter than he expected. Tinier too. Her arms thread around his neck and suddenly her touch is the only thing that he can think about - the only thing that he craves - and he wonders, as some glossed over afterthought, if this is what Nathan feels when Audrey touches him; he thinks the man might be half-mad if he doesn't touch her at every opportunity. Then he forgets that as well and his legs are covering the steps to the Great Cabin.

Her lips are on his neck and nearly driving him out of his mind with need by the time he pushes through the door and closes it behind him. He half throws/half falls with her onto the bed and her laugh fills the cabin.

"Come to me, my sailor. Come._ Sweet coupled airs we sing._ _No lonely seafarer holds clear of entering…_" It's teasing and maddening and has enough of a hint of the ominous to send a shiver through him.

When he takes her, he has no thought of gentleness or love, only desire. A need so strong, that it's sings with each beat of his heart.

And the whole time, he hears the echoing of her teasing laughter. It's with him even as he falls into exhaustion.

~  
_You awakened at last_

_Drunken, beggared of the past_

_In the last lust of despair_

_Tangle your souls into our hair_

- Arthor Symons_, Song of the Sirens_

When he awakens, it's too the gentle swaying of the _Rouge's_ rhythm. He's still undressed, tangled in his bed sheets, and he can feel the sharp sting of nail tracks down his back. He rolls wildly, somehow managing to come to a sitting position, and frantically scans the room. She's gone.

And now he laughs – a deep, self-deprecating laugh.

Of course she's gone.

He supposes that he should count himself lucky to be alive.

But right now he just feels an aching loss.

He understands, rationally, that his mystery woman is probably Troubled and probably less than the perfect specimen that his memories would lead him to believe.

He also understands that, more than likely, he'll never see her again.

There's a strand of red hair resting against his pillow.

And it looks like the echo of a laugh.

* * *

**A/N2**: "_Sweet coupled airs we sing._ _No lonely seafarer_ _Holds clear of entering…_" is from Homer's Odyssey, (The Siren's Song). The first few (and by far inferior) lines are mine because I COULDN'T FIND ANYTHING THAT WOULD WORK! Mea Culpa. P.S. To my Naudrey lovers, Naudrey is coming ;).


End file.
